


For Eternal Paradise

by Saerandipity707 (xblackrequiemx)



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: "my goddess", "my princess", Choi Saeran Bad Ending (Mystic Messenger), F/M, Fear of Abandonment, I try to make all things consensual, I will hear no arguments, MC is a femdom, Mild Body Worship, Praise Kink, Ray deserves more love, Ray has BPD, Ray is good, Ray is submissive, Still consensual though, also Ray is loud and whiny, and i love him, because that's how I like it, handjobs, kind of master and servant, mostly Ray just really wants to please MC, possible manipulation?, their relationship can be read ambiguously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28362669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xblackrequiemx/pseuds/Saerandipity707
Summary: When Ray said he’d do anything to make his goddess happy, he meant anything. Based on Ray's bad story ending one.
Relationships: Choi Saeran & Main Character, Choi Saeran & Reader, Choi Saeran/Main Character, Choi Saeran/Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 96





	For Eternal Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on Ray’s bad story ending one, which is a _bad_ ending. While my intention is for this to be a clearly consensual scenario, the nature of the relationship between Ray and “MC” can be read as ambiguous. I wanted to explore Ray’s mindset in this ending and what would drive him to such blind devotion, but I also wanted to give it my own spin where he’s not being completely used, as suggested in the context of the game. Please be aware that I touch on Ray’s fear of abandonment in this. Otherwise, I hope you have fun~

When the voices in his own head would fade to a murmur, Ray liked to listen to the voices around him.

Perhaps because his role was in information security, gathering information came naturally to him. The voices he overheard told endless stories––about the journeys that brought each Believer to Magenta, rumors of their Savior’s true identity, growing bonds between some Believers and discord between others, gossip about who was sneaking around to which place with whom…. Sometimes the whispers would even be about him, about how awkward and strange he was––scary, sometimes––someone who couldn’t be predicted or understood.

Ray filed most of this away without a second thought. He was well aware of what a useless person he was to the outside world. There was no reason he wouldn’t be seen as at least a little odd here, too. But the whispers of late had begun to bother him.

It was hard for anyone _not_ to notice his new fixation; he knew it was painfully obvious. Most seemed to find it amusing. “Looks like she’s got him wrapped around her little finger.” “The way he trips over himself to wait on her hand and foot … I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so desperate.” “Is she really even interested…? Surely she must be toying with him.” “She’s an outsider…. She certainly doesn’t _look_ like a princess.”

This last comment and the snide laughter that followed had made Ray’s blood boil. He remembered the bite in his voice as he warned the hapless man who had uttered it to never speak of their guest that way again. After that, he could only recall the heat enveloping his body, his head throbbing in fury––– _How dare you look down on her. She’s better, smarter, purer than any of you. She’s MY–––_

When the pounding in his head subsided, Ray found his hands at the frightened Believer’s throat. Alarmed at himself, he hurriedly released the man and rushed away without another sound. Word must have traveled fast, because he never heard anyone whisper such things again.

But recently, the voices around him were telling very different stories when it came to him and the Mint Eye’s newly assigned Special Missionary. Rather than bouncing with gossip and crude jokes, they became hushed with awe and unease.

As usual, once the evening hours hit, Ray wrapped up his tasks and made his way through the uppermost floor of Magenta, carrying a tray of carefully prepared food and tea. Each Believer he passed nodded to him in routine fashion— _“For eternal paradise”_ —and before long, he stopped in front of the same door he had seen so many times. Yet, he couldn’t shake the nervousness and anticipation simmering inside him as he cleared his throat and announced his presence.

“Special Missionary, ma’am?” he called, the steadiness in his voice surprising even himself. “It’s me, Ray. I’ve come to deliver today’s report.”

There was no immediate response, and he swallowed nervously. After getting caught up in his work, had he run too late? Was he in trouble? He shifted his weight, shuffling his feet while the silence continued.

Then, the captivating voice he knew so well answered distantly through the door.

“Come in.”

The sound instantly put him at ease, and he felt his head grow light at the thought of seeing the person so dear to him just beyond the door. He opened it slowly, taking care not to disturb the food he had so meticulously laid out on the tray.

The room was dim, with just a single lantern lit on the table, the light dancing against the petals of the bouquet he had last brought from the garden. The majority of the light filtered through the room’s large windows. The moon was already high in the sky and washed the room in an ethereal blue glow. And amidst it all sat you––legs crossed, head held high, the moonlight catching the train of your black dress and making it sparkle like starlight.

He met your striking gaze and felt a shudder run up his spine as you scanned him from head to toe, as if assessing his appearance. He immediately averted his eyes and bowed his head to stare at the dinner tray instead, for the first time examining the intricate patterns carved into the handles. He took a deep breath to prepare himself. Then, he approached you, keeping his gaze low and feeling your piercing stare on him all the way. He set the tray before you on the table, trying not to think too hard about the feeling of your eyes following him intently with each move he made.

“My princess,” he greeted you formally with a slight bow. “I’ve completed collecting all intel you requested, including the last piece of information on the RFA members as stated by requirement No. 27.”

He kept his head bowed, but didn’t hear a word of acknowledgement from you nor see you move even the slightest bit. Unsure what you were expecting of him, he continued.

“And … I’ve brought your dinner. I prepared everything just as you requested. I even made sure to slice fresh lemon for your tea this time … so…”

When there was again no response, he finally tilted his head to look up at you. He felt his heart stutter and skip a beat when he met your cool gaze, as if you were looking straight into his heart to see how it fluttered and thumped with each look you gave him. He felt the heat rise to his face and hoped his redness wasn’t so visible in the faint light.

“If … if you don’t have anything else you need…” His voice trailed off as he waited patiently for your reply. He waited while you stared at him for a few moments longer, his heartbeat seeming to grow louder in his ears with each passing second of silence between you.

Then, you spoke.

“Ray,” you said in a silvery voice, “are you sure you’re not skipping your meals?”

He hesitated briefly, unsure why you would be asking about his well-being rather than for more details about the duties you had tasked him with. He wondered if the fact that he had worked through the night without sleeping was apparent, and he felt immediate shame for making you have to waste your energy on looking after him.

“Yes, I am taking care of my meals,” he answered. “I don’t want you worried….”

You kept your eyes on him, making him tense his shoulders and brace for you to yell at him for being so careless and incompetent. But you never did. In fact, he had never once heard you raise your voice at him in anger before. He didn’t care what you said to him, as long as you did it in that tender and angelic voice of yours. It made him want to obey your every word.

“All right,” you finally answered. “Remember, you can’t be tending to me if you’re sick.”

Of course, of course he knew that. It was the one thought that motivated him to take time for every meal. He couldn’t keep you pleased if he didn’t have the energy for you––and if he couldn’t fulfill your wishes, you would get bored with him that much faster. As long as he performed his work well and didn’t neglect his basic needs, you’d said, he would be allowed to entertain you. It was so, so much more gracious than how his mother––or, dare he think it, even the Savior––used to treat him. He was still overwhelmed at how you could show such care for someone like him, who deserved to be locked away in the closet, starved, beaten, and worked to exhaustion.

“You look tired, Ray,” your voice interrupted his thoughts with a gentle, yet accusatory tone. “Do you need a break?”

He looked into your eyes, searching them for the right answer. Was it okay for him to take a break right now? He had finished everything you had asked of him this week––but there was always something to be done, and he was terrified that if he allowed himself to relax too much, you might find a reason to replace him with someone more qualified.

“No, I’m fine,” he replied. “My only desire is to make you happy. If there is something else you require of me, please make use of me.”

He bowed low to show his sincerity, his anxiety eating at him the longer you stayed silent.

_Please, please, I’ll do anything. Don’t throw me away yet, please–– I need you._

He studied the floor as he awaited your response, trying not to let the thought of you leaving consume him. Whenever he made a mistake or didn’t understand what you wanted from him, this sickening feeling would ravage him––a worry so strong it seized his chest and made it difficult to breathe. It was his worst fear, that he would suddenly lose his worthiness or that you would grow tired of him. He would never let that happen. Not again.

He was eased from these thoughts with the soft touch of your hand against his face. Carefully, you raised his head to make him look at you.

“You’ve worked hard today,” you acknowledged, letting your thumb brush along his cheek in a comforting gesture. “Don’t worry. You can still make yourself useful to me.”

He looked up at you expectantly, instantly relieved by the sound of your voice and the warmth of your touch. An excitement rose in his chest, and he was eager to fulfill your next desire. 

“Yes, princess! Anything!”

There was no change in your expression as you gripped his jaw just a little more firmly, locking his gaze with yours.

“I’m hungry,” you said. “Feed me.”

He stared at you for a few moments, trying to understand why you would ask this of him. You had never given him a request like this before.

You raised an eyebrow, the first time tonight you showed any change in expression.

“Do you not want to?”

He blinked.

“N-no, I will– I mean yes! Yes, I want to. Of course, right away––”

You released your hold on his jaw, and he hurriedly stood up straight. He pored over the food he’d prepared for you, trying to recollect himself. Of course, it didn’t matter what the request was. He had said he’d do anything for you, and he meant it. He didn’t need to know why. He was probably too daft to understand anyway.

He decided he would feed you the fruit first. After a moment of hesitation, he removed his gloves so as not to sully the food, hoping you wouldn’t grimace at how disgusting his chewed nails looked. He plucked a grape from its stem and turned back to you, leaning back in your chair with your head resting nonchalantly against your hand, waiting. Slowly, he lowered the grape to your mouth. You took it from his fingers carefully, and he tried not to stare too long at your lips as they opened for– him….

Quickly, he selected another grape and again brought it to you. Then another.

This wasn’t too hard, if he didn’t think too much. Almost mechanically, he fed you one bite after another, only getting nervous when your eyes would linger on his while you took the food from him.

By the time half of the grapes were gone, he had stilled his breathing. Again, he took another grape and lowered it to your mouth, already pondering if he should give you the soup or bread next. But when you took the bite this time, your lips closed around his fingers, sucking lightly as he yelped and pulled them back. Surprised, he took a step backward and bumped into the table, making the dishes clatter against the tray. He froze, already preparing to utter a thousand apologies, but when he looked back at you, you were smiling.

“I– I’m sorry. I was just– Ah, did you … mean to do that?”

You continued smiling evenly at him.

“Do what?”

He wasn't sure what to make of your response, but he determined the best course of action was to keep feeding you. Clearly, he was overreacting––although he couldn’t explain why the feeling of your mouth around his fingers had flustered him so much. He leaned over to take another grape, but your hand rested on his arm to stop him.

“Let’s play a game this time,” you said, a gleam in your eyes he couldn’t quite describe as innocent, nor playful. “Try it with your mouth.”

“I– my … mouth?”

You nodded and leaned back in your chair.

“Hold it with your mouth. See if you can give it to me that way.”

He was bewildered, but not anxious or uncomfortable––so he simply obliged, fitting a grape between his lips and slowly leaning down to meet you.

He was shocked when you took the bite and your lips brushed against his. In a panic, he drew back, worried he’d done it wrong. Before he got too far, though, you raised a hand to the back of his head, clutching his hair as you held him there. He felt his eyes go wide and his face burn as he registered the feeling of your lips moving against his, and he let out a short, startled squeak that was muffled by your mouth.

It wasn’t the first time you had kissed him, but in truth, he still had trouble believing it every time. Your hand on the back of his head pushed him closer, and he fell willingly into the kiss. He feared he still wasn’t very good at it, but you didn’t complain as he clumsily kissed you back.

You stayed locked for a few more moments, long enough for him to feel the heat rising to his head, making his thoughts go numb. All he could focus on was how soft and warm your lips were; he thought he could taste a hint of mint, too––maybe your lip balm. Without knowing it, he started to kiss back with more force. He leaned his leg into the chair to crawl on top of you and he felt your hand grasp at his jacket as your tongue prodded at his bottom lip. Unable to hold it back, a whimper escaped his mouth, inviting you in further. He became acutely aware of the warmth of your tongue inside his mouth.

_Oh––_

He felt hot. Dizzy. His stomach was churning, or fluttering––he couldn’t tell which. A sharp sensation stung his bottom lip, and he realized you had nipped him with your teeth. He gasped and cried out, but the sound was swallowed by your mouth again. He struggled for balance, his hand slipping against the table and knocking the tray of food to the floor. He heard the crash of dishes and the metallic clatter of the tray, but kept gripping the table for support as you kissed him fervently, almost aggressively. 

A sudden knock at the door interrupted the both of you. His beaten lips were released as you turned to the sound.

“Mr. Ray? Madam?” a wary voice called. “Everything all right? I heard a noise….”

Ray was still struggling to catch his breath. Your hold on the back of his head moved down to his neck, and you gripped him forcefully. Your eyes were dark, but he could feel them burning into him.

“Well? Say something,” you urged him under your breath.

He scrambled for a response, heart pounding. There was no way anyone in Magenta didn’t know what kind of relationship you shared—he had heard enough of the whispers himself––but he still didn’t like the idea of being caught in such a compromising position. More than that, he didn’t like the idea of this moment he had you to himself being interrupted.

“I-I’m so sorry, ma’am!” he nearly shouted, playing it up for the other party to hear. “I’m just so, so stupid, a clutz– I’m s-such an air-headed fool, I–––”

The sigh from the other side of the door indicated that the Believer who had come to check on them was disgruntled, but not surprised.

“Madam, do you need help cleaning up after him?”

“We’re fine,” you chimed, voice dripping with honey while your expression remained razor sharp. Ray was quick to follow your lead.

“Y-yes, don’t trouble yourself–– It’s all my fault…. P-please, allow me to take care of it–––”

At Ray’s stuttering, the Believer grunted and walked away without questioning it any further. You stared into his eyes until the footsteps faded away. Then your grip on his neck relaxed, and you began rubbing it soothingly.

“Good boy,” you praised him in a whisper. He felt himself melt, relaxing into your touch while his chest grew light with butterflies. He’d do anything to hear those words again and again…. “There’s a problem, though.”

He froze as the warmth of your hand left his neck. A problem? Were you mad about his mistake earlier? He had meant it when he said he would take care of the mess…. Had he destroyed the mood? Were you done with him now? He knew it, he had ruined everything and you were going to send him away––– 

You leaned back, the absence of your body heat making him feel empty and alone. You turned toward the door, indicating with a nod of your head where the Believer had just left. 

“The others here don’t seem to respect you much.”

There was a scowl on your face. Ray felt his stomach sink. Were you as disappointed in him as everyone else was? That wasn’t something he could fix in mere minutes. He’d spent the past several years of his life working to become a skilled hacker so he could be useful to the Savior, to the Mint Eye, to anyone. Yet, he still wasn’t as competent as the other Believers. That was why he had to work so hard to keep up with everyone else and pull his weight. He had at least achieved something worthwhile by earning your approval, and he couldn’t let that slip from his grasp, never––– 

“I’m sorry,” he offered immediately, bowing his head and avoiding your eyes. “I try so hard, but I know I’m not as good as the others. You must think I’m so stupid and worthle––”

“Stop that,” you interrupted sharply. It was the closest to anger he had ever heard in your voice.

“I– I–– ” He struggled not to keep apologizing, clenching his fists tightly to keep them from shaking as panic set in.

 _Please don’t be mad, please don’t be mad, pleasedon’tbemad–––_

“What did I tell you about talking about yourself that way?” you continued more softly, reaching out to gently straighten the folds of his jacket that had gotten disheveled in your earlier antics.

He gazed into your eyes beseechingly.

“If you don’t want them to look down on me, I’ll work harder. If there’s something you don’t like, please tell me. I’ll become anything you want–– I’ll do anything so that you don’t have to be ashamed to say I … ah– belong to you….”

“You _do_ belong to me,” you affirmed, hands squeezing him to drive your point home. “And I would like to see you show more self-respect.”

“Y-yes, I’m sor–– I won’t disappoint you again, ma’am.”

The flame in your eyes subsided and your body relaxed, your hands again caressing him in soothing motions.

“Do you want to make it up to me, Ray?”

Your soft fingers grazed under his chin, and he released a shaky sigh. Your kiss earlier had gotten him worked up, and he knew he still hadn’t gotten enough. Whenever you started playing with him like that, something more always followed––and that thought made him impatient.

“Yes,” he groaned.

“Hmm?” you hummed, intrigued by the sound he made. “And what could you possibly do for me?”

“Anything you want, princess, anything–––”

His breathing was getting heavier already, much to his shame. He couldn’t lose you to any of the others. You had said it: _He_ was yours. Whatever you needed to make it stay that way, he’d go to any lengths to make it happen. It didn’t matter if he worked until he collapsed, his eyes went blind and his fingers went numb. He was still leaning halfway into your lap, entranced by the lips that had been kissing him just minutes ago.

 _More please, more–– I’ll earn it–––_

“Do you want to kiss me, Ray?” your voice cut into his thoughts.

His eyes grew wide, glancing from your lips back up to meet your gaze. He’d never initiated a kiss before. He had always been happy to let you take the reins. But, sometimes, there were thoughts he desperately wished he could act on….

“I– no, I–– don’t deserve to,” he stammered.

Your hands moved from his shoulders to grip the sides of his head, making him look you directly in the eyes.

“That’s not what I asked. I asked if you _want_ to,” you said, a low threat to your voice. _“Do you want to?”_

He felt his legs tremble under your glare and hesitated only for a moment.

“Yes.”

“Then kiss me.”

He obliged eagerly.

Being the one to kiss you first, and feeling you surrender to his touch, made him feel better than he ever imagined it would. Once he started, he couldn’t stop, and his mind became nothing more than a haze as the two of you sucked and bit and grabbed at each other. He situated himself fully in your lap, cradling your face between his hands as you kissed more and more and more. He was only vaguely aware of the shameful noises he was making. When you nipped his neck, all control he had left was lost to him completely as he let out a cry of pleasure.

“ _A-ah––_ ”

The bite was swiftly followed by fingers tangling in his hair and another hand roaming up his thigh. He began to sweat thinking about where your hand was headed. He wondered if this was moving all too fast, but he could already feel his arousal growing and wanted, _needed_ more, if you’d let him have it.

“You’re such a good boy, Ray,” your voice sang to him, and he knew if he wasn’t hard enough already, your praises would surely get him there.

“Ah, aaah…. Oh, g–– _Please, f–––_ ”

He choked back his moans, struggling not to sound too desperate or obscene. The sounds threatening to spill from his mouth were so, so vulgar…. But the way you spoke to him so sweetly, while touching him like this, made his mind run wild.

“Such a good, sweet boy,” you continued in tantalizing whispers. “Always speaking so polite, always so nice….”

Your hand reached the crotch of his pants, fingers trailing delicately over his bulge through the fabric. He fought to suppress the urge to roll his hips into your hand.

“ _Ah!_ Oh, oh g...shi– _ngh, f–––_ ”

Your voice lowered, husky and raw.

“But I want you to be naughty sometimes, too,” you growled. “Why don’t you say what word is really on your mind...?”

Your hand closed around his erection, giving his hair a tight pull at the same time.

“F-f–– ah, _fuck!”_

He felt the wicked smile on your lips as they pressed against his jaw, and he bent to your touch as more needy moans and curses spilled from his mouth.

He barely remembered what happened after that moment. The next thing he knew, you were shoving him from your lap, and he stumbled backward onto the floor. He lifted himself up on his elbows to see you striding across the room toward the bed. You gave him a bewitching glance over your shoulder which shot straight to his groin. All other thoughts abandoned, he followed you eagerly, scrambling on all fours after you as you took a seat at the end of the bed and waited for him. The only thought on his mind was proving himself to you. Even if he was weak, stupid, hopeless, the one thing he’d never let you doubt was how much he needed you, needed your smile, needed your hands on him. Loving caresses or slaps of punishment, anything would do, so long as you didn’t let go of him.

He came to a stop at your feet and gazed up at you, legs crossed and dress sliding to the side, revealing as much of your legs as possible. Sweat beaded on his forehead, making his bangs stick to his face, and the darkened look you gave as you glared down at him made a shiver run through his entire body.

_Beautiful…._

“I adore you,” he professed, voice rough with desire. Hands trembling, he took your foot in his hands and pressed his forehead to you, desperate to show you just how sincere he was. “I _worship_ you. Please, tell me what I should do, what I should think, what I should feel–– I can become … anything for you.”

He fought to control the shaking in his voice, painfully aware of his arousal straining against his pants.

“You are my princess––no, my _goddess,_ ” he continued, pressing a kiss to your foot, then your ankle, then the inside of your leg. “I only wish for you to stay with me.... I mean it … I’ll do anything….”

As he kissed higher up your leg, you reached down to take his hands and pull him up onto the bed with you.

“Prove it,” you commanded.

Now that he knew he had your permission to kiss you, he wanted to kiss every bit of your skin he could find. In between each soft kiss he pressed to you, he uttered more affirmations of his loyalty and affection, and you removed another part of his clothing.

The acknowledgement that you were undressing him alarmed him at first. He was still horribly insecure about his frail body, and he half expected you to laugh or turn your nose up in disgust at how weak and pathetic he was. But he couldn’t stop you; he didn’t want to, now that things had gone this far. He wasn’t sure if this was the way to show his devotion, but he knew you were only supposed to do things like this with people you cared deeply about. Maybe this was what he always needed to do to set himself above anyone else who may seek your favor. Maybe this was something only _he_ could do for you. He hoped so much that was the case.

With each passing moment, he thought less and less.

“You said … you’d do anything for me,” you sighed into him between kisses. “How far … would you go?”

Free of his jacket and waistcoat, you pushed him onto his back.

“I can rip out my heart for you, if that would entertain you–––”

You straddled him, grabbing him by the shirt collar as you interrupted him with a hungry kiss. He whined when you pulled away, somehow worried that any time your lips left him, it would be the last time.

“Please, if it satisfies you, I want you, _ah––_ to bend me and break me– for your happiness–––”

You silenced him with another kiss, this one slow, gentle. When you pulled back, he followed your lips instinctually. You both stared at each other for a few moments, chests heaving.

“Not tonight,” you said, using a hand to push him delicately back into the mattress. “Let’s start slow before we get to the bending and breaking.”

His breath caught in his throat once he realized the implication of what you had just said. Before he could answer, you smiled at him and leaned in for another kiss. Blood rushed to his head, but his imagination couldn’t run very far before he felt your hands unfastening his belt and palming at his crotch again.

“Nnn, _fuck….”_

The two of you had never gone this far before. You’d played around a bit in the past—mostly by accident, when your kisses and cuddles got a little too out of hand. At those times, there may be teeth nipping skin and fingers pulling hair and nails raking down backs. Sometimes he’d get too excited and have to excuse himself before things got mortifyingly embarrassing. Now, as he felt your hands massaging him between his legs and he moaned wantonly against you, he felt more ashamed than ever before. He had never allowed himself to even think about you in this way. …Except once, he’d imagined you straddling him quite like this, his back slamming into the mattress, his wrists bruising as you pinned them above his head, the teeth marks you left staying on his skin for days–– his hand came away wet with his shame–– but _just once–––_

He couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eyes for a week afterward. Ever since then, he had forced himself to block out all such thoughts no matter how heated your “playtime” got, bringing his body back down with cold showers if he had to.

But now … he could take this as a sign that you wanted it, too, right…?

Your hands pulled his pants farther down his thighs before you came up for another kiss, and he whimpered needily into your mouth.

You freed him and pulled back, taking a moment to run your hands affectionately through his hair as you stared down at his flushed face.

“Ray,” you said, with the kindness in your voice he remembered from when you first arrived at this place. “Do you want this?”

For once, he didn’t have to think.

“Yes.”

The tenderness in your eyes remained for just a moment, and then you were tugging aggressively at his boxers and running your fingers along his hardened cock.

_O-oh, fuck…._

He laid back on the bed while you took care of him, back arching with each moan as you pumped him, his hands twisting tightly among the blankets. This was nothing like how he’d imagined it when he was alone. He never knew your hands could feel so good on him. It was incredible. Part of him wanted to return the favor and make you feel good like this, too, but he preferred it this way: you completely in control and him at your mercy. It was fine if you were the only one doing things to him. He didn’t deserve to touch something so sacred.

His responses to your hands swiftly devolved from praises and pleading to heavy pants and incomprehensible noises. He never wanted this to end, wanted to be the one you put your hands on forever, but wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on.

Your hands still moving around him while he got closer and closer, you leaned over to whisper in his ear.

“You’re so beautiful, Ray,” you whispered reverently. “So lovely, so sweet, so wonderful to me.”

His mind became a haze, focusing only on your words.

“You do such good work for me. The others are content to live in this paradise, run away from the pains that brought them here. But you’ve never forgotten what it’s like to struggle and survive. That’s why I chose you.”

He couldn’t quite process what you were saying around the feeling of your hands on his cock, but the warmth in his chest burned even stronger than his arousal. You … _chose_ him. Chose _him._

His moans, getting higher and higher, shorter and shorter, started to come out as hoarse sobs.

“Don’t pay them any mind from now on. I’m not looking at them. I’m only looking at you. You … looking so pretty for me. Making such pretty noises. You, all of you. _You’re mine._ ”

When his climax hit, he didn’t bother to hold back. He practically shouted through his orgasm, whining as you kept stroking him through it until he felt oversensitive.

He laid back on the bed with his eyes closed, just trying to catch his breath. Gradually, his awareness of his surroundings returned––the ache in his fingers that had been gripping the sheets too tightly, the crickets chirping melodically outside the windows, running water, the stickiness on his stomach––– 

When he looked up, you were emerging from your bathroom with a wet cloth and wiping your hands. He swallowed dryly. Although he was fairly certain that was what was supposed to happen, he couldn’t help but feel he had soiled you somehow.

You leaned over him to begin cleaning his stomach, but he hurriedly brushed your hand away, mumbling that he could do it himself.

After he had cleaned up and gotten dressed again, the two of you sat on the bed in silence. He couldn’t look at you without remembering the hunger in your eyes and the possessiveness in your voice as you’d told him he was yours––and for as much as it thrilled him to hear you claim him, it also got him … excited again.

After a few moments, you stood in front of him and tilted his chin up with a finger so he could look you in the eyes. The look there seemed at once tender and eager. He wasn’t sure how he should act after something like that. He gazed into your eyes pleadingly, as if waiting for you to tell him what to do or what to say.

“I have another project for you regarding the upcoming RFA party,” you stated, tracing your finger along his jaw. “I’ll send you the details tonight. After you’ve completed it, I want you … to report to me again.”

He caught his breath, all words lost.

“Can you do that, Ray?”

“Yes … my goddess,” he gulped.

You let go of his face.

“Good boy,” you praised him, sending another rush of heat to his head. “Clean up the dishes before you go. And send for one of the others to get me dinner.”

He tended to the mess quickly, trying not to let his guilt and jealousy that someone else would be preparing your meal tonight get to him. After all, you’d told him that you were only looking at him. You wouldn’t do this with anyone else. _He_ was yours.

Out of habit, he bowed to you again before he excused himself, and your eyes followed him as he left, burning into the back of his head.

At the end of the hallway, he found the Believer from earlier still patrolling the floor. With a newfound command in his voice, Ray called out to him.

“The Special Missionary will be needing a replacement for dinner,” he explained, gesturing to the mess of dishes he was carrying. “Be sure you get it to her. And make sure her tea is served with sliced lemon.”

The Believer eyed him with a knowing stare, but bowed his head in understanding.

“For eternal paradise.”

“For eternal paradise.”

Ray walked away and grinned to himself, imagining the new whispers he may overhear about the two of you now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This was actually helpful for me to explore my own fear of abandonment and excessive attachment issues, so I hope it was at least entertaining for anyone who did read it. I know writing something based on a bad ending isn’t the “safest” idea for a fic, but I enjoyed the self-reflection (and self-indulgence).


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